


John Boehner Gives a Rim Job and Loses Himself

by fingalsanteater



Series: John Boehner [3]
Category: Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: American Politics, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Mentions of Taylor Swift, Rimming, Song Lyrics, Taylor Swift Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingalsanteater/pseuds/fingalsanteater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a while since John Boehner has been alone with the President and he'll do anything the President wants, if he can just get him alone. So, he's vying for Obama's attention again by responding to his free education proposal with Taylor Swift gifs. He hopes it's just ridiculous enough to interest Obama. </p>
<p>This is the third story in my "John Boehner" series. Reading the prior two fics is not required, but it will help this fic make more sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Boehner Gives a Rim Job and Loses Himself

**Author's Note:**

> See the end of the work for a list of Taylor Swift songs quoted or referenced. This story is inspired by [Real American Politics](http://www.speaker.gov/general/12-taylor-swift-reactions-president-obamas-free-college-idea) and an anonymous comment on Fandom Secrets about wanting to eat Obama's ass.

John Boehner turned his radio on. It was meant to be distraction from his dark thoughts, but it was a mistake. Like so many others he'd made. A song was starting up. "Once upon a time a few mistakes ago, I was in your sights, you got me alone," the artist sang along with a twangy guitar. It was Taylor Swift's "I Knew You Were Trouble." He squeezed his eyes shut, as if the darkness behind them might hide him from the memory of what happened. It burned him, through him; his body was alight with remembrance, a feverish, sickening sensation brought on by Taylor's voice, her lyrics.  
  
 _His fingers dug into bony hips, tongue circling around a tight ring of flesh._  
  
John licked his lips and tears spilled from his eyes.

* * *

  
  
So, maybe the Taylor Swift gifs were a little much. But, that joke of proposal didn't warrant a serious response. Free college for those who worked for it? Who did Obama think he was? The government didn't have money to just give away! That man infuriated him, incensed him, aroused him. Wait. Aroused his ire, he meant. Yes, that's what he meant.  
  
Pinching the bridge of his nose, John let out a deep sigh. Hell, who was he kidding? Ever since the President burst into his office all those months ago and gave him the hand job of his life, he was having trouble keeping his feelings in check. It was like his orgasm into Obama's hand expelled more than just ejaculate; it also seemed to open up the floodgates to his repressed attraction.  
  
Now, he could barely go a day without trying to think of a way to get time alone with him again. But, it had been election season and concerns of state took precedence over John's libido. His typical stunts hadn't cut it this year either. The threat of government shutdown was old-hat at this point, and the President's response perfunctory. No invitation to Oval Office and no clandestine spanking with a wooden paddle last year. Instead, Obama gave government employees an extra paid holiday and ignored John completely.  
  
But, countering with Taylor Swift gifs was unexpected and ridiculous. John hoped it was just disparaging enough to interest the President.  
  
John's cell phone buzzed. The text was from a number he didn't recognize. His brows drew together quizzically as he read, "New money, suit and tie. I can read you like a magazine." It was almost threatening, and he felt a bit of worry creep up. The business with that bartender threatening to poison him had got him a little wary. After a few minutes of deliberation, he picked up his desk phone to report the strange text when his cell buzzed again.  
  
"This is looking like a contest of who can act like they care less," it read. Curiosity was beginning to get the better of him. Putting his desk phone back in the cradle, he picked up his cell and responded with a quick "Who is this?" It was stupid to text this stranger back, but he couldn't help it. "Tall, dark and superman," was the response.  
  
What the hell? It seemed some moron had gotten his number and was sending him prank texts. He missed the days of Prince Albert in a can and running refrigerators. These cryptic messages offered no punch line yet and he wasn't going wait for one.  
  
He blocked the number and resolved to put the strange interlude out of his mind. Buttoning up his coat, he was just about to brave the chill of D.C. in January when his desk phone rang. Grumbling at the imposition to his exit, he answered too gruffly.  
  
"Is that any way to greet the President of the United States, John," asked Obama. John could hear his smirk. His heart skipped a beat.  
  
"What can I do for you, sir," he asked, afraid to say more.  
  
"You always knew how to push my buttons. You give me everything and nothing.  
This mad, mad love makes you come running." His cadence was almost sing-songy, his words uncomfortably reminding John of the strange texts he'd just received.  
  
Hand tightening around his phone, he asked the obvious.

"Did you send me those texts?"  
  
Obama laughed and continued, "I will get you, and get you alone. Your name has echoed through my mind. And, I just think you should, think you should know." He sounded like he was quoting something, but John couldn't figure out what-- or why.  
  
Despite his anger and confusion, being alone with Obama was all he wanted. Overwhelming anticipation and desire drew a tremulous breath from his lungs. His next words were regrettably shaky as he spoke them.  
  
"I... don't understand. But, if you want to talk about something..." John trailed off nervously.  
  
"I know you don't understand," Obama said, his voice losing its sing-song quality. He sounded irritated. "Meet me for a drink in my office." He didn't even bother asking if John wanted to meet him, already knowing that his answer would an unequivocal yes. Obama had always known John better than John knew himself.  
  
Before John could even answer, the line went silent. He finished doing up his coat, fingers fumbling only slightly over the buttons.  
  
Though he didn't specify, John knew Obama meant he should meet him in his other office-- not the Oval Office. This office was smaller and more private, with a dark, glass top desk, two navy chairs and a leather, low backed couch. It was cool and sophisticated, a bit like the President himself.  
  
Obama was sitting on the couch when John entered, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. He stood and offered John the second glass sitting on the coffee table.  
  
"No, thank you." He waved off the offer. While a drink sounded nice, he wanted to be in control of his faculties for this meeting. He was already so off balance.  
  
Obama sat both tumblers on his desk, then took a seat on the couch. John settled into one of the chairs across from him. Sitting next to him on the couch was too intimate. He didn't want Obama to think he was expecting anything to happen.  
  
"Taylor Swift gifs, huh?" Obama's lips were twitching with suppressed laughter, causing John's face to heat. If the President asked him here just to laugh at him... he didn't think he could handle crushing embarrassment and disappointment tonight, after so many months of wanting this.  
  
Laughter burbled up from Obama's throat, like he couldn't contain his mirth at how ridiculous John was. The gifs were ridiculous, but he was laughing at John-- in his face-- and he couldn't take it. Not this time.  
  
"You..." he started angrily, but Obama interrupted him.  
  
"Oh, John, relax. If you use gifs as a counter to a serious proposal, you must expect that I'll laugh about it. It's stupid. And, I knew it for the cry for attention it undoubtedly was."  
  
Breath stilling in his lungs, John waited. For Obama to order him to strip, order him to bend over, order him to take his cock out. But, the order never came. John let his breath out slowly. The silence between them stretched to uncomfortable levels, a rubber band pulled tight and ready to snap the hand of the one pulling it.  
  
"You always do this," Obama said suddenly. "You do something stupid, desperate. I know you want me. Then, when I get you alone you deny everything with either protests or silence. Well, if your mouth won't do any talking, then I'll put it to work another way."  
  
The tension didn't snap so much as it exploded. Hand it to Obama to turn a tense silence into something incendiary. Standing, Obama started unbuckling his belt. John goggled, hands tightly clutching the arms of the chair. The President had never undressed before in their encounters; it was always John who was half naked and at his mercy.  
  
John's cock swelled as he watched Obama undress. He toed off his shoes, let his pants drop to the floor where he stepped out of them. John's mouth watered as he spied the thick bulge in Obama's underwear.  
  
John couldn't help it. "God," he uttered. Feeling as if he were being pulled, he took the few steps to where Obama stood. He was stopped with a hand flat on his chest. Craving the contact he pressed into it, but Obama said, "Stop. I told you I'm going to put your mouth to work. Wait."  
  
Obama stepped back and pushed his underwear off his hips. His cock was long and just half-hard, drooping slightly instead of jutting out. John waited, but his fingers were twitching, wanting to wrap around the President's dick.  
  
Then, Obama turned and kneeled on the couch, one hand on the back steadying him as smoothly settled in a position that put him ass out. He bent slightly at the waist, pushing his ass out further.  
  
His gaze was dark and lustful when he turned to look at John. "Have you ever heard of a rim job," he asked.  
  
John had. His cock twitched. It was disgusting and dirty. It was unsanitary and unhygienic. So, why did he find the prospect of giving a rim job to Obama so appealing, so arousing?  
  
"I want you to spread me open and fuck me with your tongue," said Obama. John stepped forward. "I want you to know my taste," said Obama. John dropped to his knees. "I want you to leave here with the taste of my ass in your mouth," said Obama. John's shuddering hands trailed up Obama's thighs.  
  
John did just what he wanted. What they wanted.  
  
He cupped Obama's slim ass and spread him open. Licking a stripe up one smooth cheek and squeezing the other, John contemplated Obama's hole. The tight pucker was small and dark and the very human, musky scent both enticed and frightened John. Instead of his tongue, John first licked his thumb and pressed the wet digit to the hole. Obama sighed and John pressed in harder, trying to elicit more of a response.  
  
Turning and looking down at John, Obama said, "I want to see you lick your thumb now." John pressed in and Obama's mouth fell open in pleasure. Then, he pulled his thumb out and sucked it into his mouth. The taste wasn't terrible, but it wasn't particularly good either. It just was and John wanted more.  
  
He licked down, from tailbone right to the tight hole. The puckered skin under his tongue was so warm, hotter than the wet heat of his mouth. Spreading Obama's cheeks wider, John licked and sucked and slurped obscenely. The President was reserved, but not quiet. When John thrust his tongue in, he heard Obama moan.  
  
John's cock was restrained in his pants, and he fumbled with one hand to free it while he continued thrusting in with his tongue. Fisting his cock clumsily, he pressed his tongue in deeper until his nose was so crushed up against Obama's bony ass that he couldn't breathe. He found the lack of air strangely exhilarating. He jerked his cock a few more times and came on the carpet.  
  
Obama's breath was coming quicker now, and he was pumping his hips back, fucking himself on John's tongue. His pelvic bone was bumping uncomfortably into John's nose with each thrust, but John didn't dare pull back. He let the President fuck himself on his tongue until he heard him come, the sound that escaped his lips like a sharp sigh.  
  
John's knees were killing him, so he gingerly maneuvered into a sitting position on the coffee table. Obama stood and then sat on the other side of the couch. There was a slick stain across the back of the leather cushion he had been facing. A sudden, strange urge to lick it off momentarily overwhelmed John.  
  
The first two times they'd done this, they parted immediately after. This time, they sat across from each other, listening to each other's breaths slow as they came down from their mutual orgasm. John's eyes couldn't help darting to Obama's softening cock, head slick with traces of come. John's face was wet with his own saliva. He wiped his hand across his mouth, serving mostly to only smear it across his face rather than clean up.  
  
Obama leaned forward, watching his mouth, and John wondered if he was going to kiss him. Instead, he said, "You're a mess. There's some Kleenex on my desk."  
  
He took the hint and grabbed a hand full of tissue to wipe his face. Obama started putting back on his clothes while John watched. He hoped it'd be easier to talk once they were dressed.  
  
Once Obama was all buttoned up again, looking nothing at all like a man who just had his ass eaten out, he moved to stand in front of John. He was close, there were just scant inches between them. John used his mouth for the task Obama set for it, now he was ready to talk.  
  
"I don't want to go months without... seeing you again," he admitted. "I think your proposal has merit and I'd like to work with you on it." That was the truth. No more posturing or pissing contests. He had been fighting because he couldn't fuck. But, if his desire for the man could be sated like it had been today, he knew they could work together.  Work together, make love together--John was a bit of a romantic.  
  
Obama's eyes hardened. He laughed humorlessly.  
  
"No."  
  
"No," John repeated. He stepped back and swallowed at the lump forming in his throat.  
  
"I don't like you, John. You are an obtuse ineffectual reactionary, and I don't want you." Obama's hot breath ghosted across John's face, a reminder of how close they standing. The words "I don't want you" echoed through John's brain, each syllable a knife in his heart.  
  
"Why?" It was all John could choke out.  
  
"Why did I come to your office that time? Why did I invite you to mine? What did I get out of our last two encounters?"  
  
Obama smiled cruelly. All John could do was nod.  
  
He continued. "You are fun to play with. Especially when it's obvious you are trying to get my attention." The threat of tears stung at John's eyes, the sharp prickle almost unbearable.  
  
"I take what I want from you, John. And, I know you'll take what I give you, when I give it to you. The thing I want from you from now on is just your mouth on my cock. And other places. " Obama's smile was wry when he continued, "We will never work together."  
  
The lump in John's throat was too big to talk around.  
  
"I would say 'we are never ever ever getting back together,'" Obama chuckled, "but we were never together in the first place."  
  
"I..." John started to say.  He didn't know what he wanted to say. It didn't matter because Obama interrupted him.  
  
"Please leave, John." He stepped aside and offered John a clear path to the door.  
  
John's hand was on the door knob when Obama stopped him.  
  
"John, wait." As he turned, a glimmer of hope shot through him. "You'd better zip up your pants before you go out there," said Obama. "Wouldn't want to get caught with your cock out coming from the President's office. What would your constituents think?"  
  
John zipped up and fled.

* * *

  
He tried to forget the whole scene with the President. Despite his cutting remarks, John still grew hard at the memory of thrusting his tongue into Obama's ass. Sometimes he cried while holding his hard cock in his hand. He was a pathetic mess.  
  
A few days too late, John had finally recognized the quotes Obama had been texting him. He'd been mocking him with Taylor Swift song lyrics the entire time. He thought he'd use Taylor Swift gifs to mock Obama and get his attention. Instead, Obama enticed him with her words and then destroyed him. He was the punch line to Obama's prank texts. It would take John a long time to shake this off.

* * *

 

And I can see you years from now in a bar  
Talking over a football game  
With that same big loud opinion  
But nobody's listening  
Washed up and ranting about the same old bitter things

\- Taylor Swift, "Mean"

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Songs quoted or referenced:  
> "I Knew You Were Trouble," written by Taylor Swift, Max Martin and Shellback  
> "Blank Space," written by Taylor Swift, Max Martin and Shellback  
> "The Story of Us," written by Taylor Swift  
> "Superman," written by Taylor Swift  
> "I Wish You Would," written by Taylor Swift  
> "Treacherous," written by Taylor Swift  
> "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together," written by Taylor Swift, Max Martin and Shellback  
> "Shake It Off," written by Taylor Swift, Max Martin and Shellback


End file.
